


Thy Strange Mutations

by NineOfSpades



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Parallel Universe, That would be telling - Freeform, Violence, eventual... well, ripping out hearts and all that good stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 09:43:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13268817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NineOfSpades/pseuds/NineOfSpades
Summary: When Regina is told to sacrifice the thing she loves most, she makes a different choice.AU where Emma accidentally sells her firstborn child to the Evil Queen.   Mostly canon-compliant through Season 3A, if canon had worked out completely differently.





	1. Chapter 1

**Prelude** :   

Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess.  Her hair was dark as ebony, her lips red as blood, and her skin as white as snow. 

She fell in love with a handsome prince and they made babies.  That is how the tales always end. 

Unfortunately for the attractive royal couple, this tale is only just beginning. 

 


	2. The Thing You Love Most

The wardrobe loomed over her childhood crib, casting an ominous shadow over the crystal unicorns that tinkled with the slightest breeze. 

Princess Emma barely noticed it anymore.  Once upon a time, it had been a source of panic.  At four, she’d heard the loose-lipped servants let slip that the wardrobe had been meant for her.  It was the only way of escaping the Evil Queen’s curse.  The Evil Queen, who wore black dresses stained with blood, whose jagged black castle marred the beautiful landscape and was filled with the torn-out hearts of her enemies, bore a grudge against the beautiful and charming King and Queen, for she was evil, and they were good, and evil cannot bear to see good be happy. 

At least, that was what Pinocchio had told her. 

The orange-haired boy was shorter than her now, and roughly her age, despite having been eight when she was born.  He and his father had eventually noticed that he aged almost as slowly as the tree he’d been carved from. 

To an onlooker, it might have seemed strange that Emma was now older than the boy who had carried her in his arms when she was born.  But to Emma, who was accustomed to the incomprehensible and to whom the fantastical and impossible were everyday occurrences, such a phenomenon was only to be expected.  And even in our world, few are the children who never see childhood companions grow smaller as they themselves grow big. 

Twelve was big to a girl of that age, and Emma proudly surveyed her parents’ kingdom like, well, like the only heir to its throne.  She would be attending her first ball in a month, and she had pestered and pleaded until her mother had agreed to let her wear the neighboring queen’s famously tiny glass slippers, which they had received as a gift after her mother had solved a problem for them – something about a firstborn child and squids, though Emma hadn’t been paying much attention, too busy sneaking bits of quail under the table for the cat. 

“There are going to be other boys, right?” a muffled voice said. 

Emma turned, and burst into giggles at the sight.  Pinocchio had been stuffed by what had probably been a team of experts into a formal suit, buttoned all the way to his throat.  His hair stood out in every direction, and the fabric at his shoulders and upper arms was rumpled and bunched together, from the same experts grabbing at him as he made his escape, Emma supposed. 

“Honestly,” Pinocchio said earnestly.  “I’m going to feel like an idiot if I don’t see everyone else suffering with me like this.” 

His nose twitched, but didn’t lengthen.  Emma tried to look sympathetic. 

“Don’t worry,” she said.  “Prince Ali is coming, and he’s probably just as miserable as you are.  And then there’s Prince Hans, but he’s only two.”  Truth be told, Emma hadn’t been paying much attention to that section of the guest list – at twelve, boys were rather crude, disgusting creatures, even if they were princes. 

“Come on,” Emma said, grabbing Pinocchio’s hand.  “Let me show you my new dress.” 

Pinocchio politely kept quiet.  He couldn’t afford to feign interest – it would lead to a nosebleed, and that would ruin his fancy shirt. 

Down the hall and into the old nursery they went.  Emma opened the door to the famous wardrobe. 

Hanging inside it was a beautiful dress, shining red, with puffed sleeves and a jewel in the center. 

“Isn’t it lovely?” she said proudly. 

“It’s nice,” said Pinocchio, peering into the wardrobe.  “This thing is smaller than I remembered.” 

“Well, of _course_ it’s small,” Emma said impatiently.  “It can only fit one person.  That’s why Mother was so worried when I was born – she didn’t know what would happen if she had to send me through when I was just a baby.”   Her face turned serious for a moment, then she laughed.  “Aren’t you happy I didn’t have to go through after all?” 

“Of course,” he assured her.  “But… are _you_?” 

Emma frowned. 

“Don’t try to lie to me,” he warned.  “You’re not supposed to lie.  The Blue Fairy said.” 

Emma sighed. 

“Alright,” she said.  “But you have to promise to keep it a secret.”  Her friend nodded dutifully. 

“Well… I know I should be happy.  My parents are.  And I know it’s good for everyone here that their happy endings weren’t taken away.  But… I can’t help feeling like I missed my chance.” 

“I think I know what you mean,” the boy said.  “You feel like you missed your chance for greatness – to be a hero.” 

“The Savior,” Emma agreed, sounding wistful.  “I’d save everyone.  _Everyone._   You, my parents, all the kings and queens – the best heroes in the world would be saved by me!  I’d be a bigger hero than any of them!” 

“Well,” said Pinocchio optimistically, “at least we didn’t have to see what that cursed world was like.” 

Emma frowned.  “‘We’?” 

“I mean – I meant _you._ ” 

His nose lengthened.  He hurriedly clapped his handkerchief over it. 

Emma stepped forward, straightening her spine and trying to remember her tutors’ lessons on how to look regal.  “ _What_ aren’t you telling me?” 

“It’s- it’s not- it doesn’t matter anymore!  The Evil Queen isn’t going to cast a curse twelve years _after_ she promised to…”

Emma could see the tip of his nose stretching the handkerchief.  She folded her arms.  “I told you my secret,” she said sternly.  “Now you have to share yours.  It’s only fair.” 

Pinocchio sighed, letting the handkerchief drop.  “Alright,” he said.  “But you have to promise not to tell anyone, or my dad could get into big trouble.” 

Eyes wide, Emma promised. 

“Well, the wardrobe was actually supposed to be able to hold _two_ people, but my dad knew that in a world without happy endings, I’d turn back into wood, so he told the Blue Fairy to tell your parents…”

 

* * *

 

**Interlude**

On a red-curtained bed in a darkened room of a black castle, a Valet, formerly Prince Henry, son of King Xavier, lay dying. 

The woman standing over him wore a black corset, leather pants, black leather riding boots, and a long flowing black cape with a design on the back in scarlet.  Her hair was pulled back starkly; her face twisted in a cruel scowl. 

She shed no tears.  She had known this day would come. 

“Your Majesty,” the Valet wheezed, his lungs straining for every breath.  “Don’t-” a burst of coughing cut him off. 

“I was content,” said the Evil Queen.  “Not happy, but life was bearable.” 

“Please, Regina-”

“I love you, Father,” Regina said, and for a moment her face was softer, younger.  “You know that.  But you’re the only thing I love in this world.  When you’re gone…” she closed her eyes and fought the tears back.  She had promised herself that she would not cry; that she would let the tragedy fuel her resolve to make this the happiest day of her life. 

“When you’re gone, there will be nothing left for me to love or live for in this world.”  She paused. 

“Twelve years ago, I was patient.  I had waited so long for revenge that I could learn to bide my time.  When you told me to leave everything behind and be happy, I tried.  But my desire for revenge has never left me.  And now that you’re dying, there is nothing in the world that I will have to live for.  _Except_.  To make Snow White suffer.” 

The Valet’s eyes closed for a long time.  When they opened, they held sadness, but also resignation. 

“Take... what… need.  I just want… want you to be happy.”

The Evil Queen’s red lips curled up in a wicked smile. 

“I will be.” 

It was tragic, but no crueler than what she might have done, twelve years ago, had foresight not stayed her hand. 

The Queen stripped off her leather gloves.  Rolling up her sleeves, she plunged dark red nails into her father’s chest. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

With a squelch, she ripped out his heart. 

 

* * *

 

“Run!” her nursemaid shrieked, shoving her toward the direction of her old nursery.  “The curse – it’s here!” 

That fact would have been obvious even without her frenzy – no one could have missed the thick, dark clouds of purple roiling in the horizon, looming larger with every second.  All of the servants were running around as loudly as they possibly could, while the sound of hoofbeats rumbled.  The Queen’s dark soldiers.  Come to kill them all. 

Especially her. 

Emma was a sensible girl, despite having been a pampered princess all her life, and the obviously sensible thing to do was to run into the no-longer-useless wardrobe and close the door.  Still, she pulled her arm out of the nurse’s grip and ran in the opposite direction. 

She had to find Pinocchio first.  He’d be turned to kindling if she didn’t. 

There were soldiers everywhere in the courtyard.  Clad in black armor with nasty-looking spikes, and square helmets with spiny black plumes, they hacked their way through the Royal Guard.  The neighboring huts had been hacked to pieces, children screaming and parents weeping in the debris. 

Pinocchio was in a corner of the courtyard, crouched over the prone figure of an old man.  Geppetto.  She rushed over to him.  He shouted something, in warning, as if they were playing Magic Battle with the woodland creatures again and she’d walked into one of their traps.  She hit the ground instinctively and rolled out of the way just in time to avoid the strike that would have decapitated her. 

The black-armored soldier froze for a moment, then turned its head and shouted something unintelligible to a group of others, who broke off from the main combat and ran over to join him.  He turned back to Emma and raised his sword again…

From behind her, a figure barreled into the soldier, ramming him in the chest with its shoulder and making him stumble backward.  It was her father, breastplate half-buckled, with one leather strap still dangling from the left side, wearing no helmet and only one greave.  He straightened up and slammed the flat of his blade, hard, against the soldier’s helmet.  The soldier went down and did not get back up. 

The first three black knights converged on them.  Her father swore, something that would have transfixed her on any other day.  He cracked his sword hilt as hard as he could against one black, feathered helm, slid the blade through the visor of another – the first death Emma had ever seen – and lunged at the dark soldiers who were striding purposefully toward Emma.  “Go!” he called over his shoulder at her.  “Get out of here, now!” 

She grabbed Pinocchio’s hand and ran. 

Across the courtyard, through the halls, over a balcony that overlooked a garden trampled beneath careless feet – she saw her mother fighting with a woman in black who threw balls of fire, but didn’t stop – _you must go through the wardrobe,_ her parents had stressed repeatedly, when she was younger; _the only way you can save us is if you stay alive and go through the wardrobe_. 

She flung open the door to her childhood nursery. 

There was a black-helmeted soldier waiting. 

Slowly, the soldier stood up.  His sword made a _shnick_ noise as it left its sheath, making her shrink back and squeeze Pinocchio’s hand more tightly. 

Something glowing a soft blue color flew over her shoulder, past her face.  A shower of glitter erupted from it, surrounding the soldier and freezing it in place. 

The Blue Fairy gently hovered before them. 

“Go,” she said, waving her wand and causing the wardrobe door to open. 

The children ran into the wardrobe.  Emma saw the Blue Fairy fly out into the hall, where heavy footsteps were echoing, through the crack before she closed the door and the world dissolved. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I set the rating to General Audiences, but if anyone feels like that's misleading, feel free to bring it up and I'll change it. No judgment. The violence level should stay more or less stable as the story progresses.


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